As their pilot vanished beneath the churning foam, Orla felt movement beside her as Redmond tugged at his seatbelt release.
‘Christ!’ he was shouting as the sea battered them, swirling up around their chests, snatching the air from their lungs.
This couldn’t be happening, it was a nightmare. Reeling with shock, Orla reached down with rapidly numbing fingers and tried to free her own seat belt.
The water was rising fast, too fast.
She was fighting against the strap, panicking. She couldn’t get it undone.
‘Don’t lean forward, you’re jamming it, try to relax…’ Redmond yelled as waves rose up around his mouth.
Orla couldn’t. Had he got his free? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t see anything, couldn’t do anything above the hysterical fear that the water was coming in, pouring in, and they were going to drown. It was up around her neck now, and her fingers were struggling, she couldn’t get the clasp free.
She was going to die.
Redmond was surging up out of the water, he was half-standing, getting above it, but it was still coming in, it was rising all the time and she couldn’t get free.
‘I can’t-’ she shouted, her teeth chattering with cold.
Redmond took a breath, and plunged down under the swirling waves.
Orla was alone with the rising sea. The airplane was groaning, the fuselage popping and shuddering with the pressure and weight of the sea water as its interior filled up.
‘Redmond!’ she shrieked.
There was no answer.
She was alone. She was going to die alone.
Then suddenly he appeared beside her, spluttering, coughing, his face shockingly pale in the half-light, his red hair flat to his head.
Her belt was loose. He’d done it.
‘We have to get-’ he started.
His words were cut off as the plane lurched sideways.
Orla screamed. Redmond lost his footing and fell against the bulkhead, his forehead striking metal. His eyes rolled up. He collapsed into the water and disappeared from sight. Then the tiny battered plane gave one last deathly groan, and sank further beneath the waves.
‘Redmond! Redmond!’ Orla cried, frantically reaching out, trying to find him.
Her hands were numb, like her legs. She was freezing, she was dying. She knew it. She scrambled around, sobbing with terror. He was gone. He must have been swept out of the hole made by the blown-in windscreen and into the sea.
Then her hand touched cloth.
His coat.
He was still in here, in this coffin that was now swirling downward, spiralling deeper into the icy waters, carrying them to their graves. She found a reserve of strength from somewhere and grabbed the cloth and hauled it up.